


thoughts are like the devil’s whispers

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (its dead like him), Cutting, Mentions of Suicide, Other, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, They love each other, depressing stuff again!, jk, mark eats jolly ranchers when hes sad, mark is a college student, mark is always sad, mark is sad, mark loves the winter, markyong is there if you adjust your glasses, mentions of self harm, please dont read if u get triggered easily, stay careful and never do what my fics have guys ok, taeyong just wants to help him, the self deprecation is strong in this one, this is not romanticized in any way, thoughs of suicide, use of parenthesis narration (I LOVE THIS STYLE ITS MY FAVE)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: sometimes, mark’s impulsive side considers what would happen when he grabbed the ends of his scarf and pulled.(would he choke? would he die? maybe someone would try to save him, but maybe not.)





	thoughts are like the devil’s whispers

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanna get the gist of the tws that may be included, please read the tags. i put my tags in there for good reason. again: this will contain self harm, suicidal thoughts, self depreciation

mark stares at his ceiling from his bed. he doesn’t want to get up.

his chest feels empty, but yet at the same time his lungs are filled with lead and his heart pumps nothing but stone.

the alarm on his nightstand blares just then, and he leans over the edge of his bed to slam it close. he rolls back and takes another long look at the empty, white expanse of his ceiling.

he gets up for real this time and drags his feet to the bathroom, looking into the mirror emptily. mark shivers slightly and the hairs on his arms rise. it’s a cold day and he already has an outfit set out from last night's restless pacing. he really doesn’t want to go outside.

he brushes his teeth and washes his face anyways, ignoring the roughness of his stubble brushing against his hands, and dries himself with a spare towel.

he shrugs off his shirt and shimmies down his pants, replacing them with his jeans and hoodie.

it’s hard to breathe, but it's always hard to breathe, so mark shrugs the feeling away and ignores the burning in his eyes. he's used to this. when he walks out, he's hit with the sharp, fierce wind.

mark's favourite season is winter. it is always cold and he has the satisfaction in seeing his fingers turn red with life when he goes outside without gloves, has the thrill of touching his pink cheeks with his freezing hands and feeling the warm life throbbing beneath his skin.

sometimes, mark’s impulsive side considers what would happen when he grabbed the ends of his scarf and pulled.

(would he choke? would he die if he pulled it for long enough? maybe someone would try to save him, but maybe not.)

he would never know, though.

he takes a blue raspberry jolly rancher out from the pocket of his hoodie and pulls the ends of the wrapper before tossing the hard candy into his mouth.

as he walks he considers everything about his life and how he was living it.

why was it so hard to think of things that made him happy when his life was never truly sad? no one ever looked at him and thought about how hard life must have been for him, no one ever saw him and thought about how ugly he was. hus life was a good one and yet he couldn’t bring himself to be happy.

mark hates himself most of the time.

he just feels tired all the time, tired of himself and the world and his thoughts and everything- but he can't do anything about it.

sometimes he tells taeyong how he feels, and he feels better (sometimes). it usually feels like a weight is lifted from his chest momentarily and he can breathe a little more clearly now.

taeyong softly runs his hand through mark's hair one day as they lie on their rickety, old, worn couch and sighs.

“i’m sorry i can’t get you out of your head,” he murmurs, breath hot and tingling against mark's ear.

(mark is sorry too. his head is a bad place to be stuck in and when he is left alone with his thoughts sometimes he scares himself.)

“people can feel sadness for no reason,” taeyong tells him once, in his ocean of never ending wisdom. “that’s how we just are sometimes.”

(all mark’s brain chooses to focus on is the lack of reasons behind his sadness and tears, even as taeyong's hands skirt softly and gently along his ribs.)

as stupid as it sounds, mark's biggest problem was the lack of his problems. a privileged man’s sole enemy, apart from himself. perhaps the real problem here was him.

but mark could never try to erase himself from the equation.

it was all fear on top of fear on top of fear.

he always wonders what would happen if he had ever managed to muster up the courage to down the bleach from under the sink. sometimes he finds himself staring at the kitchen knives a little too long.

(and sometimes, in the middle of the night, mark will drag those same kitchen knives along his forearm and watch the blood bead up from the thin, shallow cuts he gives himself.

he always feels terrible and sanitizes after, but he can never find it in himself to stop himself from digging his nails into the wounds and creating newer ones, and he feels even worse when taeyong opens the bathroom door and quietly bandages his wounds wordlessly before pulling him close to his chest and sighing a deep, shaky sigh.)

when you disregard these occurences, mark is a normal college student. he's pretty sure everyone feels the same way he does, and he shouldn't be making such a big deal out of something that is really nothing.

(he voices these concerns to taeyong one day.

"just because other people might go through the same things doesn't invalidate your feelings," taeyong murmurs against his neck as his hands tighten around mark. "your issues are as loud as any one else's, and i'm always here for only you.")

he lives normally, waking up every day and walking to his classes then coming home to work on what he needs to before going to sleep and repeating the cycle all over again.

his hands always move automatically. he knows he is continuing his day, he is going through the same routine he is used to, and that makes it worse.  
he can’t focus.

it's like someone else is controlling him, jerking his joints and muscles around with puppet strings, his arms and legs just fake pieces that move. as the hours pass, mark realizes more about his life.

this is his turning point. it is the only thing he has been able to focus on since the thought passed his mind.

mark’s tired of his life. he knew this already, but he feels it now more than ever. he's tired of the constant system of waking up and doing work and sleeping, and he’s tired of how the cycle just constantly repeats over and over and over again.

(he hates his life. he realized this a while back, but he sees it in more clarity now. the only thing he is staying for is taeyong.)

* * *

mark stares at his ceiling from his bed the next morning. he really does not want to get up.

as usual, he feels his chest caving into itself, a crushed area of debris full of the ruins of his marble lungs and stone heart. 

the alarm on his nightstand blares loudly, and he leans over the edge of his bed to slam it close. he gets up and goes to the bathroom, looking into the mirror emptily.

today is another cold day and he needs to see taeyong again because if he doesn't, he won't know what to do with himself.

(taeyong is what keeps him stable most days, the staple in his life that allows him to look forward to waking up in the morning.)

he brushes his teeth and scrubs his face until his skin hurts and his cheeks turn red.

it’s hard to breathe, but mark is used to the feeling and loses himself in the burning feeling of unshed tears.

* * *

when he finally walks out, he's hit with the sharp, fierce wind in his face. it's nice. he likes the winter.


End file.
